A Seymour and a Howard
by ValarSpawn
Summary: A three-paragraph drabble series of the forbidden love affair between a Howard maiden and a Seymour man, narrated in their point of view. Set during "The Other Boleyn Girl" Chapters currently being modified
1. Howard and Seymour Introduction

A Seymour and a Howard

_Howard…_

I am a Howard girl. And yet I was never considered as a candidate in our family's bid for power. Why not? I was cultured and educated as any lady—I could sing, dance, compose music, read, write, and engage in physical activities, like riding or hawking. Had a lady's education been more liberal I suppose I could lift a sword and fight as well as any soldier.

None of these things however, were apparently enough to make me a possible candidate for the highest honor any woman of my stature could receive: to become queen. Surprisingly I wasn't too disappointed with this, and found it suited my tastes. Our king, sad to say, did not impress me overmuch. Another reason my name never came up might have been because even though I was a Howard, my family were more along the lines of distant relations.

And thus, because of this obscurity, I was not marked by anyone. Ironically, it was this obscurity that would prove a hidden boon.

_Seymour…_

My situation was the same as the Howard girl's; I was not considered suitable in our enterprise for power. Nor did I much care. Distant relations our family may be but we were already on a suitable position in the Noble Hierarchy. I was the perfect Renaissance Nobleman, but likely the persons in charge of our bid for power in England were disappointed by my lack of ambition.

Still, this allowed me to do as I pleased within the court, so long as it did not cause inconveniences for the family. However, not in all my dreams or conjectures could I have anticipated the events that occurred the last time I visited court. I, a Seymour man, had dared the heinous: I had fallen for a Howard. Looking upon her, any man could agree with me: she was not ill-favored, though she seemed somewhat plain standing next to the more glamorous Boleyn sisters. It didn't have to do with her clothes; she favored the same French styles as Lady Anne.

Nor was it her appearance: she was possessed of a dark beauty and was one of the few court ladies who preferred to wear her hair free and exposed rather than conceal it in a hood as most did. And when she did wear a hood, it was often those crescent-shaped diadems that were often crested with pearls. The woman was very social and a good conversationalist, though she was not very popular with the men. Despite all this, she appeared little bothered by it. Despite the enmity, I marked her and watched her.

A/N: I plan to modify the contents so that several chapters that are connected with one event form an "arc". So yeah that's pretty much all I'm gonna say.


	2. Arc of the Hunt

A Seymour and a Howard  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Tudors

_Howard…_

Like all of my family, I initially treated him the way we treat all Seymour: we like to pretend we don't see them. Of course, even if a person is unable to see something, it does not neglect its existence. The Seymour would still be there, whether I wanted him to or not. Still, it was curious, how he gazed on me with eyes lit up in concealed interest. Unsurprisingly, none of my people (nor his own, and that piqued my interest) marked this; they were too focused on gaining the king's favor.

Even though my curiosity was piqued and I would have liked very much to walk up to him and ask—demand?—why he stared at me so, I did not. Instead I did what any proper lady of my stature would have done when it came to men: I waited for him to make the initial approach and contact. I was even setting up a little wager with myself. Should the Seymour actually dare and approach me with the motives I suspect he'd have, I would work on my stitching, a feminine task I abhorred. I had originally considered wearing a hair shirt, such as the ones worn by monks for penance, under my gown, but even I was too vain for that measure.

Right now, a hunting party is being assembled and I have been selected as a member due to my skill at riding a horse. My riding gown is black brocade, with a dark velvet cap lined with tiny pearls and accentuated by a white plume. Not far from where I stand, I can see the groomsmen bringing the mounts, my beautiful gray Andalusian Maerlyn among them. As one of the grooms helps me to mount I notice, with slight interest, that he was also chosen.

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Seymour…

There were not many women wearing black in our party, so she stood out, cutting a dignified figure on the saddle. In addition, it surprised me that her mount was no gentle mare as ladies were wont to ride; no this was a stallion. As with most of his breed, he measured fifteen hand-heights. Not a tall horse but he still cut a proud figure among the rest of the mounts, not unlike his mistress. Of the women, I counted Miss Anne Boleyn, Miss Jane Parker, and Mistress Mary Carey (formerly Boleyn), in addition to Miss Howard and one woman of my kin whose name eludes me.

Of the men, it would have been Lord Henry Percy of Northumberland, George Boleyn (soon to become Lord Rochford), the Duke of Suffolk, the King, and I. High above in Greenwich Palace I could see the Queen waving down to us and wishing us luck in the hunt. At the same time, I hear the sound of the horn, being blown by the Hunts master and the dogs being released to seek out a potential target. They start moving towards the forest. As we follow the hounds, out of subconscious reflex I begin studying her.

When it comes to prospective brides, they are scrutinized as closely as horses at the horse fair, perhaps closer still. A bride from a prominent and wealthy family can mean a rise in both social and economic status. It is the norm however, that the bride—groom, if it is the bride's family looking to marry off their daughter—and groom's social status to be equal or near so. In addition, in some way or another, the King and Cardinal Wolsey's approval of the union is required. This sort of thing had already happened with me before, but the negotiations had fallen out, mostly due to dissatisfaction over the bride's dowry.

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Howard…

It was not long before we sighted the quarry: a magnificent stag, its body rigid in alertness. Not even an instant had passed before it sprang off into the wood, the greyhounds in hot pursuit. In a rather automatic manner, we too, sprang into action, urging our hunters forward after the hounds in the hopes of catching venison for tonight's feast. It was not long before I found my horse neck-to-neck beside the Seymour's own hunter, a bay-colored mare. As focused as I was on our quarry, I chanced a look at him from the corner of my eye.

Had I not been more focused on making sure I stayed on the saddle, I might have uttered a silent gasp. The Seymour was, for lack of a better description, what seemed to me the epitome of masculine beauty. His hair, styled in a wavy mane that flowed mid-back, was a light brown color accentuated by his eyes, which were a darkish-shade of gray that reminded me of ashes, which sometimes didn't look black at all, but gray. His right ear, to my surprise, was pierced, the decoration being a simple, small hoop of silver.

It was an improvement over other styles other men of the court had chosen. These were usually chandelier-type earrings, which I found to be unflattering on men; they seemed either gaudy in their sense of fashion or vaguely homosexual. All this information was registered in what seemed an instant to me. Suddenly, a shout of triumph; it had been a good chase but the beast was now cornered.

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Seymour…

The family business of constant ascendance in the aristocratic hierarchy often makes one a formidable actor. This is especially the case if you have a heated rivalry with another family. I was aware that she was observing me, scrutinizing my looks before her partial focus retreated back to the hunt. Through it all I was also observing her, rather discreetly I may add. I also confess that I regret it not; she was not lacking in beauty or personality, it was only that these things were veiled.

I could not see her hair at the time for she had it pinned under her riding cap. However, it was a rich dark brown that could have been mistaken for black, if not for the auburn tint accentuating it. Her eyes were also a curious dark shade of indigo. In short she resembled Miss Boleyn most strongly, but there were subtle differences between them. The most obvious difference between them was their personality, of course.

My thoughts were pulled down to reality as the King shouted in triumph; we had the beast cornered. However, everyone in the group also ran a mutual risk: cornered beasts fight all the more fiercely to survive, after all. Naturally, the stag gave it his all against the greyhounds but numbers won out and in the end, they bore down on him. When it was over, the carcass was prepared and carried back towards Greenwich Palace, our group following behind. Riding at the rear, I kept my gaze trained on her gray Andalusian and wondered: should I take the initiative?


	3. The Masque Arc I

A Seymour and a Howard  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Tudors.

_Howard…_

By the time something would happen, though I wasn't present at the family meetings, I knew that Mary Boleyn had been sent to Hever Castle in the countryside. Whenever I thought about it, I found myself envying her; living at my private estate in the country and running it like I was my own mistress. It was a thought that appealed to me greatly. Yes, I'd probably spend more time there than at court, but no one took much notice of me anyway. In the background, I watched as Anne and George worked to keep the King's interest fixed on their sister.

I found that watching them made me feel tired, though I'm sure they felt it with their efforts more keenly than I. One day, I believe it must have been at least two hours after the King had gone to Morning Mass in his private chapel, a servant entered the queen's chambers. I paused in my reading of the Book of Judges, looking up from the text to see it was not just any servant but the one usually in charge of preparations for any events planned by the King or Queen. For some reason, the name of this position does not come to me at the moment.

"Your Highness," The man began after he paid his respects to Catherine. "The King is of the mind to host a masque here at Greenwich six days from now and desires your opinion on this." By now, I was marking the page with the embroidered ribbon that served as a bookmark for the Queen's bible as she rose to address the servant. Looking on her as I gave her the bible, I thought that for an old woman, she still retained beauty and grace. "A masque? Tell my lord husband that I will be along." The servant left, and she put away the bible before walking out of her chambers and dismissing us.

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Seymour…

It seems that God or some angel looked upon me with favor, for I had a solution—or at least the first stage of a solution—to my conundrum. What better way to approach this woman without revealing myself and my intentions to my kin than at a masque? Naturally, this also applied to her. The next step would be to send her a missive. This was not without risk: a number of precautions had to be taken, and I never knew for certain if I was being watched or not.

Never mind that the odds of the head of our family having others watch my movements were slim. In this kind of endeavor, one must assume all circumstances and act accordingly. To avoid interception, I would have to use blank paper: paper that was not stamped with the customized stationary of the Seymours. I would also have to write in block letters and sign it in some anonymous form or not at all. As an added measure, some pockets would have to be filled with Seymour gold if I wanted to buy the silence of any servants I used as messengers.

Even as I made these plans, part of me was laughing. It was the part of me that was dedicated to the Seymours, laughing hard enough to make its sides hurt at this debacle. I, a Seymour, was planning to approach a Howard. And if the approach was successful, to court her in secret. This leads me to suspect that whoever was looking down upon me with favor was also having a good laugh at my expense.

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Howard…

"_After considerable meditation, I have made my decision, with full knowledge and understanding of the consequences if this secret comes to light. As the Fates would have it, both you and I have parts to play at the masque. Is there a means to identify you?"_ No signature, and the handwriting was deliberately written in non-cursive; I expected no less. I replayed the contents of the message in my mind even as I tore the parchment to pieces, stoked and added another log to the fire before scattering the pieces over the flame and pouring what remained of my lamp oil to speed up its destruction.

I looked through my gowns, as well as the box of carefully wrapped Venetian masks I always took with me when I stayed at court, in case there were such events as these. After a moment of indecision I chose one of my favorite masks and penned a reply, detailing what I would be wearing. I folded the paper in three, sealing it with wax and pressing my Celtic cross-style crucifix against the wax as a personal seal. I handed the folded letter to the maid, along with a reasonable amount of coins that wasn't a pittance or excessive. "See to it that the sender receives this."

The maid bobbed a slight curtsey and left. I remained at the desk, deep in thought, and with mixed feelings of anticipation and dread concerning the masque. It could not come fast enough.

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Seymour…

Her response arrived more quickly than expected and in eagerness I nearly tore it from the maid's hand as she handed me the message. I dismissed the maid, desiring to read the message in private. _"My costume for the masque is a medieval style gown of deep crimson, adorned by a cloth-of-gold surcoat. I shall be wearing a gold helmet half-mask, with plumes of red."_ Naturally, there was no signature, and her handwriting was non-cursive.

It was an indication that she expressed a mutual interest in this "venture"; otherwise she would not have bothered to write a response. After thoroughly destroying the message, I left my room, wanting to see how they were doing with the construction of the stage. The concept was borrowed from Homer's _Iliad_ and some from the Crusades: we, the heroic knights, were to infiltrate the stronghold of the Moors, rescue the noble ladies trapped within, and possibly engage in a mock-battle as we made our exit. Hmm, it could be just a passing fancy but I think this kind of plot has been done before.

Counting today, it would be five days before the masque. It is such that I want to tear the hair off of my head. Of course, patience was never my greatest virtue, which my family, particularly my cousin, Jane, never fails to bring up whenever I exhibit some sign of impatience, however small and insignificant. And while I don't bear any particular ill will towards her, there are certain traits that I find irksome. Sighing, I refocused my thoughts on the masque, and on the maiden I was to rescue; thoughts far more pleasant than constant reminders of my impatience.

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Howard…

Right now, the seamstresses are working on my costume for the masque. They liked the colors I had chosen and said they complimented the mask highly. Still, it is hard to stay still for long periods of time; then again, this doesn't last as much as a portrait. I studied the golden surcoat I wore over the gown. Balaustines, the flower of the pomegranate, adorned its golden field.

While the flower itself wasn't a symbol of the court, the fruit was on Queen Catherine's personal crest. As my mind started planning the mundane things concerning the masque, how I would style my hair, what jewelry I should wear to complement my costume, etc. an image appeared in my mind, unbidden. It was him, the Seymour whose acquaintance I desired to make. It was strange, and if my family knew or suspected, sin. As a Howard, Seymours were my sworn enemy.

Always, I had to stay ten steps ahead of a Seymour. Daily my conscience reminded me of what I will go through if I were discovered by my family. Insignificant and useless to them I may be, but if any rumor of this reached the others, I would soon find their eyes fixed on me. In spite of all this, I found that I was not worried about it in the least. _Do your worst, Howards._ I thought rebelliously. _For I fear you not!_


	4. The Masque Arc II

A Seymour and a Howard  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Tudors

_Seymour…_

Finally, the night of the masque is nigh. I nearly succumbed to the notion that it would never come; it's amazing how time appears to slow to a crawl when there's really nothing to do. As incredulous as it may sound, even the Court, hub of activity though it is, has days where the activity stops. At the moment, I have just finished my business in the small privy included with my room and am now getting dressed in my costume as some wandering knight championing the cause of Christendom. Or something along those lines, I was not exactly paying attention when they were explaining our roles to us.

The reason for this was that on that day, I had slept through breakfast and by the time I woke up, they had cleared the dining hall, and thus I was made to wait (and think of food) until midday. All this aside, I am now dressed for my role in the masque; there's only one thing missing. I slip on a black mask, the kind that only covers the area surrounding the eyes, in the shape of a figure-eight. The only decoration it has is the gold swirling patterns on the black. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, momentarily seized by a bout of nervousness.

In a few moments I would play Heroic Knight to a certain young woman and after that…well, who knows what would follow.

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Howard…

Perhaps it is only my opinion, but the servants used to play the parts of the "Moors" are not very convincing. That or they try too hard. In any case I find myself thinking that I could have done better, and that playing that role sounded more entertaining than the one the other ladies and I were assigned. Currently, we (we being myself, Anne, Margaret Tudor, Jane Parker and Mary Talbot) were standing in a section of the stage that was meant to be the courtyard of the Moors' stronghold, surrounded by the Moors whom were attempting to convert us to their heathen religion before distributing us as potential brides, not unlike war spoils. Being the cool, collected and confident Christian ladies that we were we resisted them, swearing we'd rather die than abandon God's Word.

Even as we all stood our ground, the "Knights" were making their move, hidden within a stage prop made to resemble the siege machine that was the Trojan horse. Just as it seemed that all hope was lost for us, they charged onto the stage, getting out of the stage prop and quickly engaging in battle with the Moors. As I acted out my part, cowering in fear from an approaching Moor that had cornered me into a somewhat secluded part of the stage, a knight rushed up behind him. The knight was clad in a chainmail tunic with a black surcoat, the Tudor crest stitched on the black field. He and the Moor fought fiercely, but eventually the knight triumphed and swept me off the floor and into his arms before following his comrades as they retreated from the stage.

Following the performance, everyone went to the dining hall for dinner, where we were greeted by the sight of the usual plethora of dishes present at a royal feast. There was all manner of meats, vegetables, and fruit, cooked in every conceivable manner and dish known to Man. Naturally, I helped myself to a bit of my favorites, taking care not to eat excessively or else I would get sick. Not long after dessert arrived, at which point I stopped eating, preferring to relax and listen to the music.

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Seymour…

Sometime after nearly everyone had finished eating, the King rose from his chair and called for a dance. The musicians struck out a tune for a pavane as everyone got up and walked to the ballroom. I was not certain if this was coincidence or not, but when I looked to the women's line on the left I saw that I was paired up with none other than Miss Howard! Any emotional reactions she might have had towards this did not show on what I could glimpse of her face. No doubt the same applied to me as we danced to the music.

Eventually, the pavane ended, but the dancing was far from over. "Another! Let's have another! And make it a galliard this time!" King Henry called out and the musicians struck out another tune, one far livelier than the first.

For the most part, the galliard was an athlete's dance, requiring the dancers to be in good shape and health, as one would be leaping, jumping, or hopping (among other figures) throughout the dance. This, we all did, some with excellent skill and poise, others not so much but they compensated with their enthusiasm. Not too long before the end of the piece, I released her hand and grasped the lower end of my partner's busk and placed my other hand on her back, above the hip that would be farthest from me. She caught on to what I was intending to do and shifted position. Now I was facing her while she faced one side, her hand on the shoulder nearest to her body.

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Howard…

I could not recall a time when I have been more nervous than I have now, poised and ready to execute the next step in the Volta. Outwardly, this anxiety did not show, partly because of my mask and partly because of my determination not to reveal the whirlwind of emotions raging within me. I could not tell if he felt the same; he wore a mask himself, after all. I breathed in deeply, mentally preparing myself for what would follow. Now that I think about it, this would be the first time I danced the Volta outside of the dance classes I learned when I was sent away with Anne to the Spanish Netherlands and later on, France.

We began the turn, both of us lifting the outer foot with a small springing motion and then lifting the inner foot forward. Next, we did the second step, during which I prepared to perform the spring. Immediately after, I sprang into the air, and I felt his hands lift me high, holding me up as I felt the thigh of his free leg brush between my own legs. Luckily, I did not have to dwell on this for too long, as he set me down gently onto the ground. We went on this way for several measures, performing a three-quarter turn each time before eventually resuming the galliard once more.

The dance ended with both of us performing a cadence and landing in the posture position. Once the music stopped, I walked away from the dance floor and headed towards one of the refreshment tables placed outside the dance floor. I doubt they would provide mulled wine, which I preferred over ale, but I needed a drink after that. Also, the fruit bowls contained my favorite fruit, pomegranate. I did not look back to see if he followed me, but I suspected he was doing so this very moment.

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Seymour…

I am perhaps a little biased in thinking this, but never have I seen a Volta executed so gracefully as the one I have danced just now. I am of course, referring to my partner's performance. Watching her leave the dance floor, I think I may have frightened her a little. I followed, fully intending to apologize to her if I have frightened her, and to know her better. At the refreshment tables, I spotted her (impossible to conceal yourself with such bright colors), drinking some ale while in her other hand she grasped a pomegranate.

I did not increase my leisurely pace as I neared the table by which she stood. Standing beside her, I also took an empty flagon and filled it with ale, clearing my throat to alert her of my presence. She turned around, looking at me straight in the eye through the visor of her mask. "Ah, it is you again." A pause, followed by a sip from her flagon.

"Come to ask for another dance, good sir?" She inquired, not breaking her gaze. "Hardly, though I will admit that you are an excellent partner." Her lips twitched upwards into a slight smile at my compliment. "My lord is too kind." She tipped her head back, draining her flagon utterly before setting it down and picking up a fruit knife. "Does my rescuer like pomegranates?"

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Howard…

I studied his face carefully, as thoroughly as one could when the other person was masked. Admittedly, I had surprised myself when I asked the question, sharply aware that he could be receiving a different message entirely. And a part of me, the part that loved the thrill of such things, wanted him to. I waited patiently, rubbing the surface of the fruit lightly with a finger. The night was still so very young.

After some deliberation, he nodded. "If the lady will permit me to cut the fruit?" He inquired, extending his hand forward for both fruit and knife. I hesitated for only the slightest moment before handing them over, shuddering slightly as his fingers touched mine. If he noticed, he gave no sign.

Time seemed to slow as I watched his hand—somewhat callused from gripping a sword's hilt, I'm sure—grip the knife and push the sharp end into the fruit, creating a deep incision. Once the cut was satisfactory, he carefully pried the fruit open, revealing the crimson treasure within. However, he continued to pry the fruit until it was cleanly divided in two halves. Giving me one half, he took my free hand and we left the ballroom, seeking a place where we could be alone.

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Seymour…

Sleep does not come to me easily tonight, mainly because I cannot stop thinking about that private moment between Miss Howard and me. There were no kisses exchanged, not direct ones at least, though I can't deny that I longed to hold her close and do just that. No, what we did was more subtle. Through a pomegranate it was that we exchanged those kisses. As we finished it off and were cleaning our fingers with her handkerchief, she stopped.

"Oh, it seems you have some juice on your face." Automatically, my hand moved to wipe it off, but she stayed it. "Let me." She reached up to touch my face with a finger, which neatly wiped off the bead of pomegranate juice near the corner of my mouth. Instead of wiping it off, however, she brought the finger to her mouth and licked off the bead.

It was at this point that things began to get a little uncomfortable for my part. This beautiful woman's actions were provoking a heat in my loins. Nevertheless, I managed to restrain myself. It was, after all, the right and proper behavior expected of someone with my upbringing. Besides, even if I were a brute who forced his affections on women, I don't think I would be able to conquer this one. Just with this show of artful subtlety she had proven she was more cunning than she let on.


	5. On Music and The Behavior of Kings

A Seymour and a Howard  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Tudors

_Howard…_

I had the words. However, I lacked the music to accompany them. As my mouth stretched open for a yawn, I covered it with a hand, glancing down at the book on the bench beside me. I had also brought the necessary writing tools, and still nothing came. I had risen very early to write the sheet music for my latest work; the sun was beginning to rise from the east just as I reached a spot in the garden where I could work. The atmosphere was perfect for my intentions; and yet…nothing.

It has only been two days since the party, but I find myself going back to that moment and wishing it could have gone further. A bittersweet fantasy, and I wondered if I was just hurting myself by doing this. That thought was quickly by the sound of soft footfalls on the dewy grass. Think of the surprise I felt when I saw that it was Him! As his gaze landed on me, he stopped for a moment, then walked forward until he stood a respectable distance from me. "An early riser, Miss Howard?"

The inquiry was polite and incapable of arousing suspicion, a general statement. His expression was unreadable, but I believe he was secretly thrilled to have another conversation. I laid my tools aside. "Quite often sir, but especially today since I wanted to work on a song." I watched him walk over to the tree and lean against it; he now stood a bit closer to the bench than before.

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Seymour…

"You write music?" I asked, genuinely interested. While I had broached this subject with other ladies before, most of the time I was faking my interest, nodding and smiling in the right moments. Even if you were bored to tears, you had to keep up a pretense, in order to avoid offending the speaker. I suppose it was because of my attraction to Miss Howard that I displayed honest and true interest; a person naturally desires to know the object of their affections better.

Her answer shook me out of my thoughts. "I've been composing my own original pieces ever since I was taught, sir." She responded, watching me from the corner of her eye. "Ah, how fortunate for you. I can play well, but Euterpe has not seen fit to bless me with more than what small mastery I possess." I paused for a moment, then added one more question.

"What instruments do you play?" She answered accordingly, naming the virginal, the cittern, and the cornamuse, but the one she especially favored was the harp. I had no difficulty in conceiving a mental image of her playing the harp for the king, perhaps playing one of his own pieces of music while accompanied by an equally accomplished musician. At the same time, however, with this image came an unpleasant idea: what if she caught the King's eye? My unease must have betrayed me, for she was enquiring about the sudden pallor that had come over my face.

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Howard…

Whatever he was thinking must have been troubling—color drained from his face like water through a sieve. Wordlessly, I forced him to sit down and began massaging his temples. "Breathe…then tell me what is bothering you." My voice was soft, but the statement rang with the air of command. He stayed silent for a few moments, his gray eyes locked with mine.

There was a glimmer of emotion—of fear—in those eyes, but with the way he gazed at me, I kept having the impression that he was afraid for me. _But what unsettles him so?_ As if he had read my thoughts, he responded with a whisper. "The king." At first, I failed to see what he was getting at.

"What about the king?" A pause, during which he shut his eyes and opened them again. "What if his eye falls on you? You may not be the center of attention but that doesn't make His Majesty blind, especially when it comes to beautiful, accomplished women." I remained silent for a few moments, thinking about the possible, if decidedly slim, odds of the King's affections straying from Mary and towards me. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground laughing.

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Seymour…

I looked at the young woman on the ground, who was laughing to the point that her sides hurt. Why did she find it so humorous that Henry would notice her? Eventually, she stopped laughing and stood up. "I-I crave pardon, Lord Seymour…I found that funny." I raised an eyebrow.

"It's no jest. If his eye falls on you…" I did not finish that sentence. She walked over to me and placed a hand to my cheek. "Your fears are baseless, my lord; the King will not have me, not even if he strives his hardest." Slowly, I drew her close to me.

If I leaned down her lips would be brushing against mine. "Care to explain, Miss Howard?" She nodded, rising up somewhat so that our lips were but millimeters away from actual contact. "Simple. No one—not even His Majesty—will always get what they want. It's bad for their character. In Henry's case, authority and power allow to get away with most things. But eventually, he won't get what he wants. Or if he does get it, then at least it will not come to him easily."

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Howard…

It happened a week before Mary's return from Hever. I was playing my harp, while at the same time singing the words of my latest composition, "Return of the Birds". Actually, I was trying to find the right tune. Even though it was titled in English, the song itself was in Latin, which wasn't a problem as the majority of the courtiers knew Latin. I was rather absorbed in my task so I did not see the shadow looming over me.

Someone cleared their throat loudly and I looked up. Realizing who stood in front of me, I hastily began to rise to pay my respects, but he bade to remain as I was. I kept my eyes on the harp, studying the decorative carvings in the wood before glancing to the newcomer. "Your Grace…to what do I owe this honor?" The King gestured to the spot beside mine.

"May I?" I nodded. "Yes, of course." I did not dare say otherwise. While as a man Henry Tudor did not appeal to me, he was still the king; whatever my sentiments, I had to acquiesce. "I heard your playing and wondered who was the talented musician. Imagine my surprise to find a beautiful lady playing a harp."

I did not answer, strumming at the harp strings. Yes, it was an honor to be addressed by the king, but the way he looked at me was not unlike the way Father appraises horses at the horse fair, and…he liked what he saw. The worst of it is that for once, he was alone. A King is a public figure, never truly has any moments of quiet or solitude. In any case, I resolved not to give way or give impressions of interest.

Also, I had to ensure this never reached the ears of my uncle. He always kept an ear open for information, any information that would be useful. If he were to learn of this—no, don't think that way—he'll never know. Paying no mind to the bad taste that had suddenly risen in my mouth, I began telling him of the song I composed.

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Seymour…

For someone who somehow brought His Majesty's undesired attention on her head, Lady Howard was remarkable calm and level-headed. "If I show fear or uncertainty, I have already lost." I nodded, somehow being able to listen attentively while admiring her figure, for what I think would be the sixteenth time today. It had been mere coincidence that I encountered her as her Andalusian trotted along the shore of the Thames, having the same objective as I: to leave the palace and go somewhere, away from the noise and the activity and into solitude. Going back to my previous statement, there was a good reason I had not been able to take my eyes off of her.

For one, she was not wearing a headdress, not the usual French hood, at least. This time her hair was exposed in all its glory, the only decoration being a dark green headband adorned with pearls (they just use pearls on almost anything. It's a wonder there are no shortages.). Naturally, her gown matched the dress, a gold chain hanging loosely around her waist and the neck line revealed her shoulders. I could be wrong in thinking this might not be a riding gown but then again I never claimed to be an expert on the intricacies of women's clothing. We rode on until reaching a quiet spot at the river.

After tethering the horses to the tree, I helped her down, but did not let go of her. Instead of pulling away, as I half-expected of her, Lady Howard accepted my embrace. "This is the first time we are truly alone, is it not?" I asked as I sank down into a sitting position on the ground, placing the young woman on my lap. The answer I was given was not the kind I expected.

_

* * *

_

Howard…

I do not know what came over me at that moment as I kissed him. It was as if something was released from within me: my fingers were running through his hair and I kissed him as if my life, perhaps my soul, depended on it. Naturally, he responded accordingly, keeping me where I was as his hands sped across my body. Vaguely I noticed he had not once touched my chest or rear; as though only my permission would grant him that privilege.

Eventually we had to stop for want of air but we kept staring into each other's eyes. "Now that I've tasted those lips…I will be hard pressed to restrain myself for want of them." I smiled, stroking his cheek. "There's that courtly love speech slipping into our words again…but as you say it sincerely…" I trailed off at this point, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

He smiled, leaning his head on my shoulder. "If it were possible I'd take this further, but you don't strike as one who would gladly agree to a romp through the hay." I ran my fingers through his hair again, wondering absentmindedly what he used to make it so well-groomed. "Hay gets everywhere. And I'd rather avoid possible damage to my gowns; they don't come cheap, after all." He laughed at this and proceeded to demonstrate his love for me once again.


	6. Outbreak Arc I

A Seymour and a Howard

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys! I got caught up in life as well as getting hit by a massive writer's block. However I do plan on continuing this story (I already know how it will end, therefore I am obligated to continue it). Once again, I apologize for the long wait. In addition, I got Seasons 1 and 2 of The Tudors so that will help with my story! Anyway, on with the next chapter!

_Seymour…_

There were at least three other occasions in which Henry pursued Lady H. In all of them she treated him as she would any other monarch: with respect, deference, etc. The only thing she did not do was submit to his charms. Every attempt at flirting was answered by a cordial and polite reply. Fortunately, two things happened that diverted the King's attention away from her.

The first was Mary Carey's return from the Boleyn residence of Hever Castle, allowing Miss Howard to stealthily vanish back into general obscurity. The second was the arrival of an unexpected adversary: disease. An outbreak of the sweating sickness—at least I think it was the sweating sickness, I failed to hear the news in its entirety—had broken out in London, prompting the King to order that the court move to Windsor. Gah, the chaos that happens every time the court moves from a residence to another…It is madness.

I did not keep track of the time, but my belongings are now all packed away and I've ordered what servants I have to move the luggage to wherever it is they're putting it. Walking out of the room, I walked past two lady courtiers engaged in quiet conversation. However, I had only stepped two paces from them when I heard something that worried me.

"Have you seen Lady Howard recently?" Asked the first, who I remember was called Honor.

"What about her?" Prompted the second, whose name I don't remember. "Well, ever since news of the outbreak got out she seems anxious, and her face gives the impression that she is ill—not with the sweats, course—but still unwell."

* * *

_Howard…_

We're on the move and I am currently riding Maerlyn. When I ride him I do my best to stay calm and composed so that my anxieties do not affect him, making him nervous as well. However, today I find cannot do so; not with that news about the plague hanging over my head. It was one year, perhaps two, before I was sent to Grand Duchess Margaret's court in the Spanish Netherlands with Anne. That nightmare of all diseases, the Black Death, had struck my brother William.

Curiously enough, he was the only afflicted one. Everyone else in the household had been spared. Nevertheless, all precautions were taken to isolate him from the rest of us and prevent infection, so I barely got to see him. It was on one occasion that I happened to escape Vivien's clutches (it was something about stitching or weaving and I'm not fond of either) that I happened upon the room where he was kept. The door was only slightly ajar, so it was not much of a look or glimpse, but my imagination helped provide the rest.

William lay in bed, an expression of pain in his face. His skin was so pale, whiter than the white tapers kept in the private chapel. All over he was covered in bulging black spots—the disease's namesake. Squinting, I could see that some had already burst. Gently, I closed the door with my foot and began walking down the hallway, fingering the rosary that by pure chance I carried with me. _God…please don't take this one too. Spare him, spare my brother!  
_

* * *

_Seymour…_

Still en route to Windsor. Miss Howard's mood has yet to show signs of positive change. Perhaps news of the outbreak caused some unpleasant memories to resurface. I would have to ask her once a chance presents itself. I find it a bittersweet triumph that I can still hide my worry for her behind a mask of indifference while in reality I only want to hold her close and console her. As for the disease, I pray this passes quickly.

Sweating sickness. In some ways it was more terrifying to me than the Black Death. With the Black Death, at least you could figure out the cause: flea-infested rats. But with the Sweating Sickness, it was impossible. You never knew when it would come, who would be infected, or when the next victim would follow.

Symptoms, as I recall them, were said to start with a sudden sense of apprehension, which would be followed by cold, sometimes violent, shivers. Giddiness, along with pain in the areas of neck, shoulders and limbs combined with great exhaustion soon followed. It only worsened from there and most victims died within the course of a few hours. Of my family, it had been my grandfather who had come down with the accursed disease and died in less than a day. Right now, I can only watch myself and pray that no one close to my heart or any of the Royal Family succumb to it.

* * *

_Howard…_

We've finally arrived in Windsor and we had barely been there for a few hours before a messenger arrived bearing letters and news, none of them good. It's William all over again… En route to Hever Castle, my cousin Anne came down with the Sweating Sickness. Fortunately, it happened just as they were reaching the Castle grounds and she is now being cared for there. She still lives, thank God.

I should have more faith in Anne, I know. She is not the sort of person to just give up. Still, it's the Sweating Sickness, unpredictable in every sense of the word. I can only hope and pray that it does not take her as well as anyone important to me, including that Seymour boy. Oh please God, protect him from that awful disease. Protect him and give Anne the strength she'll need to pull through!

Generally, I am quite the fearless woman; however, it is diseases that frighten me the most. Not so much that I could catch one and die but that someone close to me does. And the Sweating sickness…nothing is more frightening than an enemy that you know little to nothing about.


End file.
